


Bloodstream

by 1000lux



Series: Does your journey still continue? [4]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Ghosts, Hallucinations, Heahmund's experience at Uppsala, M/M, References to Drug Use, Sad, Uppsala, actually just floki contemplating, but no one's to stop me from referencing, despite how much i hate him i seem to have a lot about him to say, even thought there's nothing graphic about the sacrifices, how happy Ragnar and Athelstan are with each other in afterlife, let's face it he hasn't suffered enough yet, lot's of contemplation of religion and sin, set somewhere in the future after part 3, the warning is just because of the human sacrifices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-03 02:55:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13332000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000lux/pseuds/1000lux
Summary: Chapter 1: Floki contemplates his life, at Uppsala.Chapter 2: Heahmund's experiences meanwhile.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Winter solstice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13159743) by [Cirilla9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cirilla9/pseuds/Cirilla9). 



> Disclaimer: I don't own rights to either the series or the characters.
> 
> So, I spend of lot of time thinking about when the next time going to Uppsala would have been. And I'm taking some artistic license here. But Bjorn was somewhat twelve when they took him the first time. And I would say that Ivar is approximately twenty at the time he finds Heahmund, given that he was a teenager when Ragnar died and some years have passed by now. Now if we assume that Bjorn was 18 when Ivar was born, since he's his youngest brother, and he couldn't have been younger than 13 when Ubbe was born, then Bjorn would have been 38 at the time when Ivar was twenty. Which he absolutely does not look like, but Lagertha doesn't look her age either, so whatever. Since the next Uppsala visit should have been when he's 39, given the interval of 9 years, let's just say, a year has passed since Ivar took Heahmund prisoner, and there we go, a perfectly established timeline! xD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you wanna see Floki suffer and Ragnar and Athelstan spook around, you're exactly at the right place. If you've come for Ivar/Heahmund, you might want to skip to the second chapter.

I've been sitting here for ages  
How did I get so faded  
Oh don't leave me lonely now

This is how it ends  
I feel the chemicals burn in my bloodstream

(Ed Sheeran - Bloodstream)

***

They're at Uppsalla. Another nine years gone by. The first time this happens without Ragnar. His friend hadn't been there for the last one as well. But then he had at least still been alive.

Floki mixes with the others in their celebrations. For now all of them not enemies anylonger. No more Lagertha's people, Harald's people, Ivar's people. For a while they're all the same. All here to worship the gods. 

Except one man. Who watches everything, like he isn't quite sure why he was even brought here in the first place, if it wasn't for the fact that Ivar would never leave him behind.

And Floki, who used to love this celebration, he wanders among them, like he is the Christian not belonging. He has no taste for food or drink or the touch of another body. All he sees are ghosts.

And as the night progresses and the herbs and smokes spin through his bloodstream, Floki lies outside alone, just the grass under him, the sky above him. And all he can see is Ragnar and Athelstan. Shadows and specters dancing around the trees. Celebrating this event as it should be, as they never got to in life.

And he knows Ivar and Heahmund are together right now. Knows just the same that Ivar would never dream to sacrifice the priest, even though, even Floki can admit that this would be a sacrifice that would satisfy the gods, as hardly ever a greater warrior would have bled for them.

And he thinks he can apologize to Ragnar, and even the priest, as often as he wants to, because they don't care. They aren't here. These are only the lost hopes and dreams Floki sees in front of his eyes. The place where those two are now, they have no regard for Floki's plight, have probably forgiven him already. For they are happy now. It is Floki who continues to suffer. To regret. He'd accept a thousand of the priest's kind if only it would give him his best friend back. He hadn't known. Floki feels tears stream down his face, unexpected, unprepared-for, as he reaches up to touch his wet cheeks. He hadn't known. Couldn't have known. What it would turn Ragnar into. Couldn't have known, that the last good days he would now remember had been those that he'd spent ceaselessly hating the priest.

And as much as it hurts him to see these schemes of Ragnar and Athelstan in front of his eyes, as much he begs them not to leave him. For this Ragnar to stay with him a little longer, and may his priest stay as well, just through the night. Just so for one night he won't be alone. And he tells Ragnar that Helga is gone. And Ragnar understands, already knows. Sits there, his legs crossed, nodding thoughtfully at everything Floki tells him, the priest sitting beside him, head resting on his shoulder, regarding Floki with that same open, deeply penetrating gaze he used to have in life.

And Floki asks Ragnar questions, so many questions. But the other only smiles at him and raises his finger to his lips, the same mischievous twinkle in his eyes that Floki missed like hardly anything in this world.

And they stay with him. Which is more than he deserves. And somewhere through the night, the priest falls asleep. But Ragnar and him they remain awake until the morning. And for just a little while Floki feels whole again.

But in the morning there is nothing left but the cold dew on the grass, freezing into Floki's bones. The grey, clouded morning, waking Floki, with a sun that barely manages to break through.

And Floki is alone again.


	2. Miserere mei, Deus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heahmund's view of the events at Uppsala.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, gosh! This chapter really took a toll out of me. I thought I'd never get it done....

"This war has been going on long enough. We are all tired." Lagertha says. "Will you not honor the gods, Ivar?"

"Oh, I will honor the gods. Will you?"

*

"What is happening?" Heahmund asks.

"What is happening, priest?" Ivar grins. "The greatest celebration you have ever seen is about to happen. You are a very lucky man to be seeing this. It is only every nine years, you see. I was just barely old enough to join during the last time."

*

A ceasefire is called. For no one, not Harald not Lagertha, certainly not Ivar, wants to anger the gods. Not now. Especially not now, when it seems that only the gods can decide at this point who wins the war. Ivar and Harald may hold Kattegat. But Lagertha controls the land around it, controls the sea around them. And for now Kattegat provides them with all they need. But for how much longer? Just the same no one knows how long Lagertha will be able to hold out, her warriors living in the woods like animals.

So for now this holy peace is struck. And the warring factions make their way to Uppsala. 

*

"Are you excited, priest," Floki walks beside Heahmund. "This will be the greatest day in your life. You will never be closer to the gods."

"I'm not interested in your pagan ways." Heahmund replies curtly.

"Oh, you are interested. I wonder how much Ivar told you?" Floki poises a finger against his mouth. "There will be a many great sacrifices during the days we are up there. I wonder who will do the human sacrifices... The last time it was done by Queen Aslaug. Lagertha will want to do it this year. But," he snickers. "I wouldn't be surprised if Ivar will end up doing it after all."

Heahmund scoffs. "Human sacrifices. You are beyond redemption or salvation." He crosses himself. "Lord have mercy on your souls."

Floki annoyedly brushes away the gesture and the words alike, walking away from the priest with a frown.

*

"Why did you bring me here?" Heahmund asks, disgusted.

"Well, I could hardly have left you behind, could I?" Ivar shrugs humorously. "You would have fashioned yourself a little boat and tried to row back to England, huh?" Ivar tells him, mimicking the whole process with delight.

Heahmund rolls his eyes. "I wouldn't have been that stupid."

"Ahhh," Ivar wags his finger. "But done something you would have. Maybe build a church beside the hut of our seer."

"You still don't trust me. After all."

Ivar smiles sardonically and at the same time wistful. "I will trust you on your deathbed, priest. Then I will say, 'Heahmund, look at this, after all, you've been true to me.' Not before that. And if I die before you, then I will tell you when we meet again in Valhalla. But not before that. And we can feast together for eternity. And maybe you can even meet my father. If he isn't in your Christian heaven with his priest."

"Even if he was christened, he would be in hell, not heaven."

"Oh, but maybe he was absolved of his sins before he died." Ivar tells him cheerfully. "He was in your lands after all. There are priests wherever you look. At least one of them will have given him confession." He fashions his hands in prayer, meeting the priest's eyes. "Wouldn't they?"

"If he would have accepted that." Heahmund concedes grudgingly.

"Oh, he would have. My father did not even believe in our gods any longer in his last days. Who knows if he believed in anything anymore."

*

Ivar leans in to kiss the priest, but is met with cold resistance.

"You are cross with me, priest. You've been cross ever since we came here. It is getting tiresome. We haven't even killed any people yet."

"Did you expect anything else?!" the words break out of Heahmund. "This place is as close to hell as I have ever been! And I fear for my soul."

Ivar leans in even closer, a malevolent grin on his face, as he runs a hand down the priest's body. "Oh, you've been closer. We both know that."

*

"My father wanted to sacrifice his priest. Back in the days, when he took him here the first and only time." Ivar tells him, eyes sparkling with mirth, curiosity and something dark. "Do you think I am going to do the same thing? You would be a glorious sacrifice. Surely the gods would grant me victory over Lagertha after such a sacrifice. For neither she nor Harald have any warrior to compete."

"Do what you have to, Ivar." Heahmund replies coldly. "I am not afraid of dying, as you well know. But if you ask me, no, I don't think you're going to." Now it's Heahmund's turn to smile cruelly, victoriously. "I think you like me too much to do that. I think you depend on me too much already. And you would mourn my loss more than you would the loss of this war."

Ivar who looked amused and interested only moments ago, looks stricken for an instant, then his expression darkens, gnarls. "Why priest, you know I have a temper and tend to lash out. You are right, I never considered sacrificing you. But maybe now," He shrugs. "I'm going to sacrifice you, just to make a point. And you are right, I will mourn you afterwards." Ivar touches Heahmund's cheek. "Like I have mourned only my mother."

*

The celebrations truly begin as night falls. And suddenly it is, what Heahmund assumes it must be like when witches meet in the hills to fornicate with demons and pray to the devil. All around him it's madness. Preparation for the unholiest of sacrifices. Heahmund feels sickened to be part of it. Sickened to be here. Wonders what the monk Athelstan, that feels like a brother to him in mind, was thinking, faced with this distorted, hellish place.

Suddenly Ivar is beside him. It shouldn't be possible for a man like him to sneak up on anyone. But tonight, in this place, nothing seems to be set in stone any longer.

"Celebrate tonight, priest." Ivar says as if in warning, wistful almost. "For when we leave this place, we will fight again. And, who knows, we might meet those who die tomorrow again sooner than we thought."

Then Ivar is gone again, quicker than Heahmund could make any scathing remark. His head spinning, as he turns to look for the viking, but can't find him any longer in the crowd that swallowed him up, just as it threatens to swallow up Heahmund any second.

Time passes slowly or maybe fast. And soon Heahmund sees no more faces he knows. There seem to be just as many of Lagertha's warrior's as their own. All of them mating with each other, copulating, indulging in each other, as if they weren't trying to kill each other only a few days ago. Only bodies now, following their urges, wherever they may take them.

He watches only. Watches, because it is impossible not to, in the coiled midst of it all, that seems to extend wherever he looks. He cannot join in, wouldn't want to. Knows he after all what all this is preamble to.

Suffocated with the fumes and herbs burned all around him, he flees outside into the meadows and treelines surrounding this temple of sin and damnation.

And there he is, lying propped-up against a tree, sharp and ever-teasing voice permeating the fog around Heahmund's frantic mind. His very own incubus, who Heahmund sold his soul to, to prolong his life for a little while longer.

"Why do you not celebrate with the others?" Ivar asks and it is clear that he has indulged in all the opiates this celebration has to offer. "You should try it. I like it." Ivar says dazedly. "While it is in my blood, it is almost like I can walk, like I can fly."

"No, thank you." Heahmund replies curtly. He has tried opiates while in the holy land. He has no urge to do so again. To be taunted with the things he craves in his heart and visions of hell alike. It's nothing he cares to repeat.

And right now what he craves is right in front of him. Even now, even after all he's seen and learned today.

"Go then, priest!" Ivar calls angrily, from where he's lying in the grass. "Go and pray."

Heahmund faces Ivar's outburst unmoved, a small sardonic smile on his face. He has half a mind now, to join the festivities after all, and sleep with some of the women, who would only be all too willing. Maybe even some of the men. Even though, Heahmund doesn't feel comfortable flaunting that particular vice for everyone to see. And for everyone to see it would be, at this place. Very different than people suspecting or implicitly knowing. Then maybe Queen Lagertha instead, who he saw eying him with interest during the celebration. That would piss Ivar off. Might even be unforgivable. Or not. Who can really tell with these heathens? 

But what for? What point is he trying to make? In this sinful place. Not for one second did he believe that Ivar is going to sacrifice him in the morning. Strike him down in the middle of an argument, maybe. But after he slept the night over it, hardly. Ivar acts on impulse. But he never makes stupid decisions. And –Heahmund laughs to himself at the weak, hopeless sinner he is– if it was indeed his last night, all the more reason to spend it with Ivar.

So he walks back to his contrary viking, who lies sulking in the grass.

And he realises that Ivar doesn't want to be alone tonight. Here at this place. Feels once more inadequate in every way. Had hoped maybe even that things would be different, now that Heahmund is with him. Heahmund feels for him now, in that moment. His anger having left him a while ago, or maybe it's just the incenses he inhaled, finally taking their toll.

Ivar stares at him in wonder, even while he closes his arms around him like he's been expecting him.

Ivar is mellow that night, mellower than Heahmund's ever seen him. Easily following Heahmund's every move, letting his hands wander wherever they will. 

"What do you want, Ivar?" Heahmund asks, watching the young man watch him.

Ivar seems to have to collect himself for a moment. Then wide-eyed and awed. "I want you."

They undress there, right on the meadow. Two bodies bathed in moonlight. In this act that, out here in the woods, in the grass, where they just seem another inevitable part of nature, seems so natural all of a sudden.

And what Ivar does with his body is not prayer, but in this night, right here, it seems as close to it as anything could be at this place. And Heahmund accepts it. For maybe just tonight not a sinner. For now just two children of God, in silent worship of what is good and beautiful in this world.

And Heahmund doesn't know what will happen in the morning. But for now that's what they are, for God and all the world to see.

*

Ivar almost asked that night, for things he cannot ask for. But now the moment is gone. Ivar runs a hand over Heahmund's sleeping form, his body cooled by the night air. He looks peaceful in his sleep. Who would have ever thought he would, at this place? Heahmund seldomly looks peaceful. Not in his sleep, not during the day either. An ever-warring conflict behind his eyes. Impossible to tell the factions, nor who's winning, if anyone can ever win.

And now the morning is setting on them already. Ivar wakes the priest, who just for one second looks lost, like he truly does not know whether he's in a convent in England or a temple all across the ocean. His eyes clutch onto Ivar like he's the only thing that stops the world from spinning around him.

"It is morning, priest." is all Ivar says.

*

"As a sign of the peace we made here to honor the gods, we will all share this honor." Ivar states with a grin. "Lagertha will do the first three sacrifices. Harald the next three. And I will do the last three."

They're all waiting. Waiting for the fighting to start again. But just for now, just for now, there are more important things. And this compromise is no sign of them trying to acknowledge each other, it's only sign that neither is willing to stand back, even just for a second. Beloved of the gods, each of them in their own way.

*

Heahmund watches in horrification as Ivar cuts the throats of the men and women who go to their slaughter willingly. Painting himself with their blood afterwards, as if he's benedicting himself and his whole ungodly congregation. All Heahmund can feel for him in that moment is alienation. The warm body against his own, he'd felt only last night. He cannot even say he is surprised. Surprised maybe only, that he had been able to fool himself for so long. That he had been able for so long to convince himself of some connection between the two of them. When truly, all that is between them is sin. Manifold sin. Lust and pride and violence. All the things in his heart, best laid hidden, that Ivar indulges without reservation.

And now he looks at the slaughtered bodies in front of him and can only shudder at how unbothered he had started to live among them those last months. Cannot fathom their godless ways. Cannot believe that anyone would do this. That all these people would follow along with it willingly. When it seems so obvious how wrong all of this is.

But maybe he is hypocritical here. Did not the Lord ask Abraham to sacrifice his son? And did he not comply?

Did not many heathens practice these unholy tributes before they were saved by the Lord? Maybe all they need is time. And however horrified Heahmund is by their ways, for now he is here. And not as unwillingly as he once was. He should not fool himself in that. Floki's warning has proven true after all. ~Watch your faith, priest. Watch your faith.~

His faith is not in question, though. His belief is as strong as it ever was. He is not tempted by the idols these men and women worship, nor by their strange beliefs and customs. If he was, he wouldn't fear damnation of his soul as much as he does. No, his belief isn't the issue. It's the things he does despite it. Despite knowing that God watches him, in these lands as much as everywhere. He has never been as pious as he should have been, as his profession, vocation, commands him to. But, now, when has he last done penance for his sins? When has he last partaken in the mortification of the flesh? Not since he came to this land.

Why do you see the speck in your brother's eye but fail to notice the beam in your own eye?

These men, whatever sin they may commit, have not accepted Jesus as their savior. What, though, is his excuse? He should look after his own soul. 

Heahmund throws a last look at the unholy spectacle in front of him, that by now seems to have people in somewhat of a religious frenzy. He speaks a quiet prayer for the ones who lost their lives here today, then crosses himself and turns away.

Miserere mei, Deus, secundum magnam misericordiam tuam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to 'Allegri - Miserere mei, Deus', while writing this. Because while in this story we are as deep in Ivar's world as we can be, this is most certainly Heahmund's story.


End file.
